


darkened day and dawning night

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Trans Character, Werewolf Sex, Werewolf Turning, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:06:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5208659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That is John, although he's just barely recognizable. He has a <i>snout</i>, he is furry all over, and his knees are bent in the wrong direction for a human. His teeth are exposed; they are long and sharp.</p><p>But Harold knows John's eyes, even glowing an unnatural neon blue. John isn't enraged. He's scared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	darkened day and dawning night

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to violentdaylight for squeeing at me, which got me to finish this in record time. Not properly beta'd - if you see anything that needs fixing, holler :)

Mark Riggs is among those numbers with hardly any online trail to speak of. Harold's experience of those numbers is enough to give him a preemptive headache whenever one pops up.

"Be careful, Mr. Reese," he says over the comm. It might be too much to hope John will listen, but a man can try.

"Not my first rodeo, Harold." The distinctive click of a handgun's safety being thumbed off comes across the comm.

Not for the first time, Harold wishes he had visual input. Riggs had chosen a run-down apartment to live in after arriving in town two months ago, in an area where streetlights have a lifespan measured in hours. Nobody even bothers with security cameras, at least none that Harold has been able to hack into. Presumably the Machine found a way.

"Seems abandoned," John says, voice low. "I'll just--"

The words are cut off by a snarl that makes the hair on Harold's nape rise, and then the all-too-familiar sounds of a fight in progress. Then silence, which makes the bottom drop out of Harold's stomach every time: is this it? Is John--

"Harold," comes across the comm.

His relieved sigh is silent. "Mr. Reese, what's going on?"

"Seems our friend was keeping pets." John sounds grim. "That thing better not have been rabid."

The phrasing seems so very _famous last words_ to Harold that he just barely refrains from commanding John to return right this minute to be tended to. "Make sure to avoid anything else he might be keeping in there," he says instead, caustic. It just makes John chuckle.

The rest of his survey of Riggs' apartment goes without incident. Harold, of course, knows John well enough to realize that his working with an injury is no indication of how serious it is.

Even so, he's not expecting John to turn up at the library with not only his jacket and shirt torn, but an actual chunk of flesh bitten off.

"Oh dear." Harold might be sick. "Take these off, this will need stitches." This is an understatement: Harold is half afraid it'll need skin grafts.

For now, stitches will have to do. Harold has to admit, once he's wiped away the blood and sewed John up, the wound seems much less dire than before. John barely seems worse for wear, despite what must have been a considerable loss of blood.

"A good night's sleep and I'll be fine," John says with half a smirk. He throws on a spare jacket, one of several Harold has taken to keeping in the library for cases like this. "See you tomorrow, Harold."

"Provided you don't develop blood poisoning during the night," Harold mutters, but that's just for form's sake.

He turns on the camera in John's apartment just to be on the safe side. A breach of privacy, to be sure, but John can hardly cast stones given his own surveillance of Harold, and in any case John has given little indication that he cares about privacy at all, whether others' or his own.

It's a comfort to glance away from compiling code and see John in his own bed, sleeping soundly. Just looking at him makes Harold feel better rested.

Except that around 1 AM, just as Harold is preparing to leave for his own bed, a glance at the screen shows John is sitting up. That is no unusual occurrence, as John is hardly a stranger to nightmares and interrupted sleep, but the fact that his eyes are glowing in the darkness of the loft is a concern.

This concern grows when John gets up. The way he stands is wrong - the entire shape of his body, now that Harold is looking at him, seems twisted somehow. The camera skips, making his movements seem choppy, odd. He doesn't put on any clothes before heading for the door.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold says. It's sure to be futile, as John left his earpiece on the bedside table, but John's head turns as he speaks. "Mr. Reese, what's going on?"

John stops. He moves haltingly in the earpiece's direction, as though he can't quite remember what it is or what to do with it, then freezes. Harold hears a tinny howl coming across the connection; even with the terrible sound quality, it makes him shudder.

Moving so fast that the picture blurs, John grabs something from a drawer. Then he's outside the frame. Harold frantically changes displays, choosing different cameras, all for naught.

He can't find John anywhere.

~~

Harold wakes up mid-morning at his desk with a crick at his neck. The monitoring routine he sent out in search of John has returned no results.

A few hours later, one of Harold's private alarms go off: a safe house has been breached. He gets to his feet with a muttered curse.

The house is one of his most recent acquisitions. Harold doesn't have a home as such, but he has some personal items that he keeps moving to safe houses which are less likely to be discovered.

By the time he arrives at the house, the intruder is long gone. Thankfully whoever it was didn't feel the need to toss the place up. The only evidence that anybody was here is the bed. The blankets are rumpled, and a close look reveals something like dog hair on them.

Harold is beginning to have a suspicion that he doesn't at all like.

On his way out, a hand grabs him. Harold turns around. The grabber throws some kind of dust at his face.

"Excuse me?" Harold says, in his best affronted voice, after he finishes sneezing.

"So Riggs hasn't turned you," the grabber says. She's a short, dark-haired woman in her thirties. "But you _were_ right in the middle of my search ward, so you have _something_ to do with that bullshit."

Harold takes a careful breath. "I think," he says, "we had better talk."

~~

The woman's name is Fran Wong, and she's come to New York in pursuit of Riggs.

"Are you some kind of law enforcement?" Harold asks carefully.

Wong snorts and sips her coffee. "I'm a social worker. A friend asked me to keep track of him, that's all, with the understanding I can call in bigger guns if the situation gets complicated." It's odd: Harold doesn't read any of the capability for violence in her that he sees in John, or even Fusco or Carter. At the same time, she doesn't seem at all afraid.

"Let me see if I understand this." Harold takes a drink of his own tea. "Riggs is a rogue alpha werewolf." The words feel strange on his tongue, fiction slipping into reality. "So supposing he bit anybody, that would put them under his immediate control."

"Pretty much, yeah." Wong grimaces. "They could try to fight him off, but he's strong and the full moon is in three days, so. I wouldn't bet on them."

"Mm." Given Harold's knowledge of John's fierce self-control and willpower, he might not concur with her opinion. "Is there anything that might be done to, ah, undo lycanthropy?"

"Nope." Wong glances aside. Conspiratorially, she lowers her voice and says, "I wouldn't mention that to any weres you might meet. They don't like the idea. A bit too conversion-therapy."

Harold grimaces. "Surely we can't leave this person under Riggs' control."

Wong grins. "So he did bite someone, and you do know about it." Harold cedes this with a tilt of his head. Her smile vanishes. "Ugh, great. And he went for the hardest motherfucking fighter he could find, right?"

That seems an apt, if incomplete, description of John. Harold nods.

"So I call in O'Malley," Wong says with a sigh. "Which means I have to convince her to take on a new pack member she doesn't even know, _if_ nobody gets killed. Beside Riggs," she says as an afterthought.

Harold stiffens. "Surely we can find a nonlethal solution." He's not thrilled about John becoming entangled with a werewolf pack, either, but he would deal with that as it became relevant.

The look Wong gives him is pitying. "Your friend's only shot is to have someone else take over as his alpha. That means defeating Riggs in a fight, since he sure as hell won't willingly give up control, and he won't stay down unless he's dead. I still have to figure out how to lure him to where O'Malley can challenge him...." She narrows her eyes at Harold.

He's only half-listening. An idea is forming in his mind. "I might be able to help," he says slowly. "In the meanwhile, would you mind explaining again how you found me?"

Wong shrugs. She pulls a little cloth bag of her pocket. "You can hold it: it's inert now."

Harold takes the bag. It weighs hardly anything at all. Its contents, as far as he can determine, are completely random: a parking stub, a stick of gum, a-- "Is that a pacifier?" He holds the item up. It was chewed out of shape at some point.

Wong snatches it. "Yeah, my friend who makes these just told me to empty my pockets and we used what was in there. Could've been worse." She shoves the pacifier back in her pocket and makes no attempt to explain what it was doing there to begin with. "Anyway, it pointed me at you, and then it died."

"Can you make another one?" Harold isn't sure he believes it would work, but he saw John shapeshift and Wong found him somehow. He's willing to suspend disbelief at least until they finish the conversation.

"I didn't make this one," Wong says. "I did mention it was a friend who makes them. I'm a Plain Jane." She waits for Harold to indicate understanding. When he doesn't, she adds, "A muggle. I don't have any supernatural capability or affiliation: that's why my other friend, the one who wants me tracking Riggs, sent me. I'm the ultimate neutral party."

"That dust you blew at me," Harold says.

"Wolfsbane blend," Wong says. At Harold's dismayed expression, she adds, "It would've just made you go to sleep for a little bit. I'm out of my territory. My phasers are set strictly to stun."

Well, that's a relief. "Can I have some? Just in case."

Wong looks skeptic, but she nods.

~~

Once he leaves her company, Harold opens himself up to doubt.

What are the facts? John was bitten by some kind of animal. John is currently missing. In between these facts, there was some alarming footage of John changing shapes, and a woman who tracked him and gave him a fitting narrative to tie all these facts together compellingly. What else could account for all that?

The most basic assumption to make is that it's a lie. Someone hacked the video footage to show him something other than what was happening and kidnapped John. Wong - if that is her real name - might be in collusion with Riggs. The break into Harold's safe house might be unrelated, or calculated to add verisimilitude.

In all honesty, the thought of somebody who can hack into his most private networks like that scares Harold more than the notion of werewolves, even leaving aside the breaking and entering and John's kidnapping.

First things first. He goes back to the library. Wong's story, as far as he can tell, checks up: she really does live in Baltimore, and is employed as a case worker for the local welfare authorities. She also has a four year old son, which explains the pacifier.

Harold starts a search for the O'Malley Wong mentioned when the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise.

He slowly turns around. There's nobody there, of course. He gets to his feet, stiff--

The next thing he knows, he's pinned to the wall by his throat. It's an uncomfortably familiar position. "John," Harold says, just barely finding breath to voice the word.

That is John, although he's just barely recognizable. He has a _snout_ , he is furry all over, and his knees are bent in the wrong direction for a human. His teeth are exposed; they are long and sharp.

But Harold knows John's eyes, even glowing an unnatural neon blue. John isn't enraged. He's scared. Harold tries to raise his hands and put them over John's.

John snarls. His fingers, tipped with wickedly sharp claws, dig into the wall at Harold's back. There's a burn mark on John's neck, Harold notes, although the bite at his side has healed completely. He considers the shape of the burn and recalls myths, as well as the cufflink he let John keep, ages back. Harold leans back to the best of his ability, letting John catch a glimpse of his silver tie pin.

As Harold expected, when John sees it he dives to press his face against it, which means he's essentially nuzzling Harold's chest for a moment until he makes contact with the tie pin.

Then there's a horrible hissing noise and John's fuzziness recedes just a tiny bit. "Harold." John's voice is hoarse, raspier than normal. "He wants me to kill you. I've tried to drive him off, but." He clenches his jaw. "Hide. I don't know how much longer--"

Something settles in Harold's chest, a plan fully formed. "I'll be at Central Park at midnight," he softly says. "You know the place."

John flinches from him as he hasn't from a second degree burn. "No." It's more a whine than a word.

"I'm sorry," Harold says. He means it, for all the good it does either of them. He thinks of the dust Wong gave him. Perhaps he should use it now. Knock John out, keep him safe....

And then what? No. Harold has a plan, and he'll stick to it.

John gives him a long look. Then he howls, eyes flashing, and runs. In the blink of an eye, he's gone.

Harold sits back down. He takes a shaky breath, and another, and starts preparing. Work is never done. On another thought, he calls Wong. "Can you meet me in Central park tonight?"

~~

"I don't like your chances," Wong says as she finishes sprinkling the dark powder in a circle around them.

Harold raises his eyebrows. "You said you were confident in the power of this," he gestures at the circle, "to ward us from Riggs and my associate, if necessary."

"I am," Wong says. "I just don't think you're going to get very far negotiating with Riggs. He's going to want to delay until the night of the full moon."

"Let me guess." Harold sighs. "He will be at his most powerful then?"

She nods. "Yup. His control of your friend, his senses, his physical strength, all of them on top setting."

"Hm." Harold presses his lips together. "Speak of the devil...."

Riggs is human-shaped, to Harold's relief. John is not. If that is, in fact, John, and not an abnormally large dog accompanying Riggs. It's leashed, so that might be the case.

"Mr. Riggs," Harold calls out. "We come in peace."

"Sure you do." Riggs' smile shows too many teeth for comfort. "Then you'll relinquish control on your friend here," he tugs at the leash, making Harold's stomach twist unpleasantly, "and we'll be on our way."

With effort, Harold controls his voice. "I don't own Mr. Reese," he says, "and I would appreciate it if you let him go."

Riggs tips his head back and laughs. The sound tips seamlessly into a howl. John's ears flatten against the sides of his head, and he whines. "Good one," Riggs tells Harold. "Let me guess, is it a geas? You don't look Fae, but of course people hardly ever do." He redirects his attention to Wong. "Your friends back home know you're taking sides, now?"

"I'm here to help negotiate. It's what I do." Wong sounds like she wishes she had chewing gum to pop in Riggs' face. "And I wouldn't throw stones if I were you. Want to get back on the subject?"

"Alright," Riggs says easily. "You want to challenge me for your pup? Meet me here in three days' time. Same hour."

Harold quietly nods.

"C'mon." Riggs yanks hard on the leash. John's feet scrabble at the ground, his claws raking the dirt, but he follows him when Riggs growls and his eyes flash red.

"I hate to tell you," Wong says in the resulting silence, "but you're toast. Not even buttered toast."

Harold's not listening. His ears are full of John's miserable whine, his eyes of the image of that collar on him. It's a cheap metal choker chain from a pet store, which is hardly Riggs' worst offense, but it seems safer to focus on than anything else.

His own voice is distant in his ears when he speaks. "In the event that I get John safely back from Riggs," he says, "are there any preparations I should make?"

"A will," Wong says bluntly. "If Riggs doesn't kill you, your friend will. And then he'll go out on a rampage, most likely biting a whole slew of innocent citizens."

"Understood." Harold's mind works frantically, his plan reforming. "Adrenaline, and a lack of experienced control?" Wong nods. "Hm. How do the more civilized packs sort this out?"

Wong shrugs. "They run around, mostly. Hunt animals. Fuck, if possible."

Harold nods. "You mentioned this O'Malley as a backup plan. Have her ready, should the worst happen."

"Sure." Wong dials her phone. As the dial tone sounds, she says, "You're looking kind of nonchalant about this whole thing, for a complete civilian. Are you sure you don't really have him under a geas?"

"At present," Harold says, "I am sure of nothing, except that I will not leave John under that," he struggles to find a sufficiently derogatory term, and fails, "person's control."

~~

Over the days between the negotiation and the scheduled confrontation, Harold researches. Wong gives him links to a few forums she believes reputable. "Either you're going to die," she says with a shrug, "or you're going to need to know that shit." They are very informative.

This leads Harold to making some purchases, and making some inquiries under an anonymous account.

He gets a reply much sooner than he expected. "nah," writes a user under the name peter_punk, "its not like being drunk. more like sugar high or high after a show if you play? everything is more intense but you can still say no. ftr best full moon activity with humans (beside sex) is jamming."

Harold takes that into account. He finds it unlikely they'll be playing musical instruments, but one never knows.

~~

By the time the sun sets, Harold is feeling very little beside grim determination. He _needs_ John back, needs him working the numbers; needs to know that John is safe and cared for. He refuses to think of how Riggs might be treating him in the meanwhile.

Harold stands for a moment, in the silence of the library and lets himself shake, just a little bit. Then he packs all that away and goes to the meeting place.

Wong is there already. "You'll do as we discussed?" Harold asks her in a low voice.

"Yup. Everything's ready." She gives him a look, and shakes her head. "You do realize that if this works right, you'll be trapped in a mountain ash circle with two violent werewolves?"

"I do realize," Harold says. He hesitates. "I hope I haven't forced you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." He would have done it anyway, and worse, to get John back, but he would rather not.

"Nah," Wong says. "I'm good. If that asshole leaves town without a superpowered beta, I'll be that much happier."

"I'll do my best," Harold says curtly.

She vanishes into the distance. There is nothing to do, now, but wait.

Riggs shows up with John still on that awful chain. Harold keeps his eyes level. "I suppose it's too late to try and convince you peacefully," he says.

"Funny," Riggs says. "I thought that was my line." He undoes John's leash with slow deliberation. "It's not actually midnight yet, you know," he tells Harold conversationally. "Five till. So I figure you have five more minutes before I make our mutual friend, here, rip your throat out."

That's an unpleasant little complication. Harold would rather not die, but having his blood on John's hands, so to speak, would be that much worse. If it comes to that, he'll have to see whether he can antagonize Riggs into doing the honors himself. "Afraid to get your own hands dirty?"

Riggs snorts. "I figure that'll knock off the last of the control you have over him. I still can't understand how you did it."

"Neither can I," Harold says, truthfully. There was some information in his research about preexisting connections - mostly romantic or familial - overriding the force of a pack's bond, but nothing quite like his and John's relationship. "I believe he trusts me, and I am honored by that trust, but I wouldn't presume to assume ownership of him."

Riggs looks from Harold to John and back again. He pulls John's chain viciously, eliciting a growl. "You have something to say, pup?"

"It's telling," Harold says, "that you resort to brute force to restrain him. Nobody would follow you willingly: is that why you were forced to turn people without their consent?"

Riggs turned to him with a sneer. "What the fuck would you know?"

Harold crosses his arms over his chest. He looks to John, and back to Riggs, inviting him to make his own conclusions. "More than you, evidently," he says, just to pile on the insult.

"Oh, hell." Riggs takes his shirt off. He's intimidatingly muscular under it. "I might just do the job myself, let your pup watch his sugar daddy dying. Maybe I'll make him _eat_ what's left of you." His face slowly loses its empty appearance of humanity.

Fortunately, Wong chooses that moment to yell, "Done!" and Harold presses the little switch he has tucked in his hand.

He can't hear anything but Riggs' scream as he drops to the floor, clutching his ears. He shudders and squirms, trying and failing to get to his feet.

Beside him, John is making the opposite change, fur receding. He grapples with the collar on his neck, finally ripping the lead off his leash with his claws.

Harold walks to Riggs slowly, not bothering to hide his limp. "I believe that your kind heals rapidly," he tells him. "You are very strong. You have led a violent life, but I believe you have very little experience with intense pain going on, and on, and on."

Riggs only makes a little whine.

 _How fitting_ , Harold thinks savagely. "I, however, am feeling no pain at the moment. My associate is, but unlike you, he is accustomed to outlasting pain."

"Sixteen hours under torture," John rasps.

Harold flicks an annoyed glance at him. "Yes, Mr. Reese, we're aware." He directs his attention back to Riggs. "So. We can stay here as long as we need to, until you cede your control of Mr. Reese."

Riggs struggles for a few more moments before giving up and crawling away, still trying to protect his ears. Harold might have told him that's futile: he caused every speaker in a mile radius to emit sounds pitched for a dog's - or a wolf's - hearing range, at a painful volume. There are some pained yelps coming from nearby, which is regrettable, but Harold trusts nobody will die.

Harold doesn't try to chase Riggs, who is still fast, even pained and crawling. He waits for him to run into the boundary of the circle Wong drew around them. Then he walks to him unhurriedly. John joins him, now half-human, his face a blank mask against pain.

Harold reaches Riggs and grabs him by the scruff of his neck. "Well?"

"He's yours," Riggs says, biting out the words.

Harold lets go of him and deliberately kicks a little dirt over the mountain ash circle, breaking it. He lets Riggs run away, but he doesn't turn the speakers off.

His phone rings. Wong is on the other end. "Well, you made that work," she says. "Go you. O'Malley's guys say thanks for the earplugs and head notice. They'll chase him the rest of the way out of town once you turn that bullshit off."

Next to him, John is shaking. "Harold," he says. "I can't-- I need pain or I can't stay under control."

The first thing Harold does is take off what's left of the collar Riggs put on John. He offers him another collar in its stead, this one made of good, soft leather. John gives it one look and soundlessly collapses to his knees, looking up at Harold with wide eyes.

After a moment, John says, "You were wrong when you told him you don't own me," and Harold simply answers, "Yes."

He still waits for John to ask before putting the new collar on, and then he watches, treasuring the moment. John is still in pain, but even so the joy on his face is obvious, unmistakable, as is his satisfaction once Harold fastens the collar securely.

The second thing Harold does is ask, "May I kiss you?"

John has the temerity to roll his eyes at him. "Harold," he drawls, insufferably fond even in his pain, "which part of _yours_ did you not understand?"

Harold turns the speakers off as his mouth is on John. He believes John's focus has been sufficiently redirected. Now, it's only a matter of productively channeling it, and Harold is secure in his ability to achieve that.

~~

They walk a short way to a safehouse that Harold purchased and equipped that day, expecting that he wouldn't want to travel a long way with John in unknown health. John keeps shifting, and digging his claws into his palm until he turns human again.

Harold allows that until they're in the safe house. Then, he takes John's hands and kisses his palms. "Enough. You won't hurt anyone, now."

"You don't know that." John's eyes are desperately bright. "You don't know what I want, Harold."

"I believe I have a good idea," Harold says, and guides John into the bedroom. There, he shows him the toy he bought. "I'm hoping you won't mind taking the passive role."

John's tearing off his clothes before Harold is finished speaking. He lies on the bed, face down, with his legs spread.

Even furry, John is splendid. Harold watches the lines of his form with proprietary pleasure. He can do _so much_ with John; he's half disappointed tonight's activities are charted in advance.

Well. There has to be some room for improvisation, surely. Harold allows himself a moment to run his hands everywhere his eyes lingered, a moment ago, from John's shoulders down his spine to his ass, where he kneads the firm muscle. Then he steps back and sheds his clothes.

He did hesitate, to be honest. Nobody has seen him naked in years, and he could very well fuck John almost fully dressed.

There are secrets that Harold must keep, but this isn't one of them: merely a matter of privacy, and John has surely more than earned knowledge of it.

If John is shocked at the slight change in Harold's figure when he takes off his waistcoat, or the sight of Harold's groin once his underwear and his soft packer are removed, he shows no hint of it. He watches Harold with hungry eyes, gaze lingering over all of Harold equally.

Harold's curiosity gets the better of him. "Can you smell the difference?"

"A little," John says. His voice is rough, legacy of Riggs and his damned choke chain. "It's mostly just that I found your testosterone shots." He looks sheepish. "I thought your scent would help keep Riggs out of my head, and I didn't want to come close enough to put you in danger."

"And that's the only reason you looked for and broke into my safe house," Harold says dryly. "You had no additional motives whatsoever." John's expression is beatific.

Then he groans and thrusts into the sheets. "Harold. A little help, here?"

"Of course." Harold puts on his harness, adjusts the toy he got for this occasion and is on the bed, on _John_ in moments.

He takes his time opening John up, taking care not to skimp on the lubricant. The toy is large - all accounts said that size played a part, due to either an implicit kind of domination or simply the added thrill of taking in something this big.

If John is displeased, it's only because he wants to get on with things. "Harold," he says as Harold steadily fucks him with two fingers, "c'mon, I can take it."

"Soon." Harold adds a third and strokes John's back with his clean hand.

There's something surreal about the entire situation, not least because John has a _tail_ which he periodically wags. The phallus jutting from Harold's harness is garishly colored - it was the only one of the recommended models Harold could procure on such short notice - and large, thickening at the base to simulate a knot. Not the kind of toy Harold would have ever imagined using.

John makes a long, soft sound when Harold finally pushes into him, and that alone would have been worth it. It's even better when he works the knot in, slow and careful, feeling John shudder and frantically try to push back against him. Finally John loses words and instead howls, a soft and continuous cry as Harold pulls back only to fuck the knot inside him again.

Harold had second-guessed his choice of toy, thinking that maybe he should have gone for something more moderately sized. Now that he's seen John's reaction, he knows he'll be ordering the extra-large version the next time he's online.

Finally he wraps his hand around John's cock, feeling the bulge of the knot forming there. He brings his slicked hand to tease the glans, the other hand wrapping securely around the base, letting John fall apart under his touch until he's sobbing and coming. John's cock doesn't soften even a little in the aftermath, but Harold was prepared for this eventuality.

He reaches back and flicks a switch. It turns on the vibrator hidden in the toy, making John whine and Harold himself grunt, hips thrusting into the vibrations before he can think better of it.

"I'm going to soak the bed," John mumbles in a last moment of coherence. He's still coming in Harold's hands, an inordinate amount of seed gushing out of him.

Harold kisses his neck. "That's perfectly fine. I hope you're enjoying yourself?" He punctuates the words with another thrust.

John makes a lost little moan. "Understatement," he manages, before Harold carries him past words again.

After getting John off for the second time, Harold pulls out and takes the harness off. John repositions himself, laying his head in Harold's lap, wordlessly and shamelessly requesting affection that Harold gladly gives.

"I wanna make you feel good," John says softly, nuzzling at Harold's stomach. "How do I make you feel good?"

"You already do," Harold says. Then he leans back against the pillows and gives John a short tutorial on his favorite sexual strategies. There are multiple layers of pleasure to watching John's dark head work between his legs, from the merely physical to admiring John's quick mind and nimble tongue to, yes, enjoying his mastery over John, even in such mundane details. John is so eager to please, so happy to give Harold pleasure, that it would be a shame not to let him.

After, he kisses John soundly, lets him curl protectively around Harold.

A last hint of restlessness seems to move through John. Harold hooks his finger through the D-ring on the front of John's collar, making him finally melt into the bed.

John puts his hand over Harold's. "Did you think about what this means?"

Harold considers, unsure what John is referring to. The knowledge that the supernatural is very much real? Their current, possibly tenuous position among the existing supernatural presence in New York? The new twist to their relationship? "Probably not as much as I should have," he says, to all of these. "I've been somewhat occupied over the last few days."

John grins at him. "Harold. I'm nearly invulnerable now."

Before he can think better of it, Harold wraps his other hand around John's wrist and squeezes tightly. "Not as near as I'd like," he says, remembering Riggs, in too much pain to move. Wolfsbane and mountain ash: there is no end to the new threats that Harold knows hardly anything about. "Consider yourself under express orders to avoid getting shot if at all necessary."

John gives him that insufferable smirk, though. In another moment Harold is on top of him, looking down. "John," he says, with an intent look, "do _not_ let people shoot at you."

Beneath him, John goes very still, except for his dick, which is poking at Harold's leg.

"Really?" Harold murmurs.

John blinks up at him. "Please?"

He can't resist that look, and John knows it. He doesn't bother putting the harness on, merely extracting the toy and fucking John slowly with it.

The moon must have set already since John is fully human now, showing no trouble at retaining that shape. Despite all the earlier stretching, pushing the toy inside him is harder work now that his body isn't craving it.

Perhaps Harold should switch to something more comfortably sized. Yet before he can even think to suggest it, John's hand shoots to his wrist, mirroring their earlier position. "Keep going," John says hoarsely. "Please. 'S good."

There's something hypnotic about it, watching John groan and _take_ something that by rights ought to be much too big for him. Almost a sadistic thrill, except that John is evidently feeling no pain. His head rolls back and forth on the pillow, his dick is extraordinarily hard in Harold's other hand and he's fucking himself over the toy now as much as letting Harold fuck him.

A thought occurs to Harold. "Would you let me see you use it on yourself?"

John half-opens his eyes, smiling at Harold. "Anytime," he purrs.

Not today, though, since on the next thrust the knot seats itself inside John's now wholly human body, and he comes.

"Shall I leave it in you?" Harold murmurs. "Keep it there till morning, leave you nice and open?" There's a particular hard packer that Harold likes to think of as his real cock. It would be a great pleasure to fuck John with it, and having him kept open for that purpose would be additionally arousing.

John whimpers. Harold watches him, fascinated, until he reluctantly shakes his head. "Sorry. All outta juice."

Harold pets his hair. "It's all right. Go to sleep."

Just on the edge of sleep, cleaned up and tucked in, John mumbles, "Harold?"

"Yes?"

"Did you know,.. back then, when you were telling me not to get shot." John's eyes are slipping shut now, drifting close to sleep.

Harold keeps an even pressure on John's skin, trying to be soothing. There is any number of things John could say, and Harold hopes he's prepared for any of them.

"Your eyes turned red," is not what he expected to hear, so it's just as well that John drifts off to sleep right after.

**Author's Note:**

> It has come to my attention that not everyone is familiar with [Bad Dragon's werewolf dildos](bad-dragon.com/products/david). So, yeah, those are real things.


End file.
